While the ill-starred girl was thus walking in terrifying security at the edge of the precipice, Trespolo, following his master’s wishes, had established himself in the island as a pilgrim from Jerusalem.  Playing his part and sprinkling his conversation with biblical phrases, which came to him readily, in his character of ex-sacristan, he distributed abundance of charms, wood of the true Cross and milk of the Blessed Virgin, and all those other inexhaustible treasures on which the eager devotion of worthy people daily feeds.  His relics were the more evidently authentic in that he did not sell any of them, and, bearing his poverty in a holy manner, thanked the faithful and declined their alms.  Only, out of regard for the established virtue of Solomon, he had consented to break bread with the fisherman, and went to take meals with him with the regularity of a cenobite.  His abstinence aroused universal surprise:  a crust dipped in water, a few nuts or figs sufficed to keep this holy man alive—­to prevent him, that is to say, from dying.  Furthermore, he entertained Nisida by his tales of his travels and by his mysterious predictions.  Unfortunately, he only appeared towards evening; for he spent the rest of the day in austerities and in prayers—­in other words, in drinking like a Turk and snoring like a buffalo.

On the morning of the seventh day, after the promise given by the prince to the fisherman’s daughter, Brancaleone came into his servant’s room, and, shaking hint roughly, cried in his ear, “Up, odious marmot!”

Trespolo, awakened suddenly, rubbed his eyes in alarm.  The dead, sleeping peacefully at the bottom of their coffins, will be less annoyed at the last day when the trump of Judgment comes to drag them from their slumbers.  Fear having, however, immediately dispersed the dark clouds that overspread his countenance, he sat up, and asked with an appearance of bewilderment—­

“What is the matter, your excellency?”

“The matter is that I will have you flayed alive a little if you do not leave off that execrable habit of sleeping twenty hours in the day.”

“I was not asleep, prince!” cried the servant boldly, as he sprang out of bed; “I was reflecting—–­”

“Listen to me,” said the prince in a severe tone; “you were once employed, I believe, in a chemist’s shop?”

“Yes, my lord, and I left because my employer had the scandalous barbarity to make me pound drugs, which tired my arms horribly.”

“Here is a phial containing a solution of opium.”

“Mercy!” cried Trespolo, falling on his knees.

“Get up, idiot, and pay great attention to what I am going to say to you.  This little fool of a Nisida persists in wanting me to speak to her father.  I made her believe that I was going away this evening to fetch my papers.  There is no time to lose.  They know you very well at the fisherman’s.  You will pour this liquid into their wine; your life will answer for your not giving them a larger dose than enough to produce a deep sleep.  You will take care to prepare me a good ladder for to-night; after which you will go and wait for me in my boat, where you will find Numa and Bonaroux.  They have my orders.  I shall not want you in scaling the fortress; I have my Campo Basso dagger.”